ישראל כציפור נודדת

"נַפְשֵׁנוּ כְּצִפּוֹר נִמְלְטָה מִפַּח יוֹקְשִׁים הַפַּח נִשְׁבָּר וַאֲנַחְנוּ נִמְלָטְנוּ" (תהילים קכ"ד, ז)

 

שמות רבה (וילנא) פרשת בשלח פרשה כ 

"נפשנו כצפור נמלטה מפח יוקשים" -

משל ליונה שהיתה יושבת בקנה [=בקן שלה]. ראה אותה נחש רע, היה מבקש לעלות אליה, ברחה הימנו למקום אחר. עלה וישב לה בקנה, נפלה האש בקנה ונשרף הנחש, פרחה הצפור וישבה לה בגג. כיון שנשרף הנחש והקן אמרו לצפור: עד מתי את פורחת ממקום זה למקום זה? הלכה ומצאה לה קן נאה ומשובח וישבה לה בתוכה. 

כך היו ישראל במצרים והיה פרעה הנחש מתחכם עליהם שנאמר: "הבה נתחכמה לו" (שמות א', י), והוא נמשל כנחש שנאמר: הנבא על פרעה "התנים הגדול" (יחזקאל כ"ט, ג), ברחו ישראל מפניו שנאמר: "יחרדו כצפור ממצרים" (הושע י"א, יא), וכיון שיצאו ישראל ממצרים נשרף פרעה באש שנאמר: "תשלח חרונך יאכלמו כקש" (שמות ט"ו, ז), ישבו להם ישראל במקום אחר שנאמר: "ואהיה כצפור בודד על גג" (תהילים ק"ב, ח) ואחר כך ברחו כצפור ממקום למקום שנאמר: "כצפור נודדת מן קנה, כן איש נודד ממקומו" (משלי כ"ז, ח). וכשבאו לארץ ישראל מצאו להם קן שנאמר: "גם צפור מצאה בית" (תהילים פ"ד, ד), וכן דוד אמר: "עד אמצא מקום לה' משכנות לאביר יעקב" (תהילים קל"ב, ה), לכך נאמר "נפשנו כצפור נמלטה" (תהילים קכ"ד, ז). 

 

 

 

שמות רבה - מדרש אגדה לספר שמות. המדרש מורכב משני חלקים (חלק א - על פרקים א'-י'; חלק ב - על פרקים י"ב-מ') השונים זה מזה באופיים והם נוצרו, ככל הנראה, בזמנים שונים. החלק הראשון מאוחר יותר לשני והוא כנראה קיבל את צורתו הסופית רק לאחר המאה ה-11 אם כי נשתמרו בו בוודאי גם מדרשים קדומים. בחלק הראשון מובאים פירושים כמעט לכל פסוק בעשרת הפרקים הראשונים של הספר. החלק השני הוא חלק מספרות 'מדרשי התנחומא' העוסק בפסוקים הראשונים של כל 'סדר מקראי', סדר הקריאה שהיה נהוג בארץ ישראל. (מתוך: ע' רייזל, מבוא למדרשים, מכללת הרצוג תשע"א)

Volver al capítulo

Bemidbar - "Hefker" like the Wilderness

            Commenting on the first verse of Sefer Bamidbar, the Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba 1) notes the significance of the fact that God’s commands to Moshe were issued specifically in the desert.  The Midrash writes, “Whoever does not make himself ownerless like a desert is unable to acquire wisdom and Torah.”

 

            Different explanations have been offered for the Sages’ admonition requiring us to approach Torah scholarship as a “desert.”  The image of the desert in this context is most commonly understood as a reference to humility, instructing us that scholarship can be obtained only through the humble recognition of the need for additional knowledge.  Just as a desert has very little about which it can boast, we must similarly view ourselves as lacking of knowledge and requiring more.

 

            Additionally, the admonition to “make oneself like a desert” may also refer to the need to value every morsel of Torah knowledge.  In a barren, empty desert, every bit of water, food or other resource assumes great significance and is regarded with value.  In a place that has nothing, anything received is cherished and immensely important.  And thus the Midrash instructs us to value every word and insight of Torah knowledge as though it were a cup of water or a juicy fruit brought to a desert traveler.  Even if we have amassed an impressive corpus of knowledge, we must continue to relish every insight, every new bit of information, every small piece of knowledge.  Seasoned, accomplished scholars tend to grow bored, disinterested or even dismissive and cynical of simple pieces of information related to their field.  The Midrash instructs us to approach Torah like cold water in a parched desert, every drop of which is cause for celebration and enthusiasm.  Even as we grow in our knowledge sophisticated understanding of Torah laws and concepts, we should enthusiastically embrace and cherish every bit of Torah that we have the opportunity to learn.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

Volver al capítulo

Haftarat Bemidbar: Two Terms for "Husband"

In the haftara for Parashat Bemidbar, the prophet Hoshea (2:18) predicts that in the future, Benei Yisrael will change the way they refer to the Almighty. Rather than calling God "ba'ali," "my husband," the nation will say instead, "ishi," yet another term for "my husband." What does the prophet mean?

Rashi there distinguishes between two different attitudes towards God. "Ba'ali" denotes a relationship of intimidation, by which the nation serves its "spouse" purely out of fear. "Ishi," by contrast, connotes a far more loving, intimate connection, one which the prophet urges the people to forge with the Almighty.

The Radak, however, associates the word "ba'ali" with the influential, ancient idol worship bearing the same name. Throughout the period of the Nevi'im, we find Benei Yisrael succumbing to the cultural pressures around them and serving the pagan deity "ba'al." The Radak claims that the prophet here alludes to the weaning process intended to once and for all rid the people of this dangerous idol. To this end, they would never so much as mention the name "ba'al," not even in the context of a reference to the Almighty Himself.

Professor Nechama Leibowitz develops a third interpretation, which, like that of the Radak, builds on the association with the idol "ba'al." Benei Yisrael looked upon the Almighty in a manner resembling the pagans' attitude towards "ba'al." This idol was seen as the god of fertility and agriculture, responsible for the successful functioning of the natural process of growth and vegetation. (Recall the "showdown" between Eliyahu and the prophets of "ba'al" during the devastating drought in Achav's time, surrounding the issue of who would provide the much-needed rain.) The prophet here accuses Benei Yisrael of failing to look beyond the external cycle of nature and see the Almighty providing their needs or withholding it from them. Hoshea declares, ".. she [Benei Yisrael] did not know that it was I that have her the grain, the wine and the oil." Even if they didn't call their God by the title "ba'al," their attitude towards the Almighty effectively reduced to the same as the perspective of the pagans. They looked only at the external manifestations before them, failing to appreciate the all-powerful Hand of God governing the entire natural world.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

Volver al capítulo

Bamidbar: Rav Amital on the Wilderness and the Israelite Camp

 

            The name “Bamidbar” given to the fourth book of the Chumash is based upon the book’s opening verse: “The Lord spoke to Moshe in the wilderness of Sinai [be-midbar Sinai]…” Additionally, many writers and darshanim have found significance in the fact that this book tells of Benei Yisrael’s journey “be-midbar,” in the wilderness.  They received the Torah, forged their national identity and prepared for their national mission specifically in a midbar, a desolate wasteland.

 

            One aspect of the significance of the midbar emerges from the central theme of the first several chapters of this sefer, namely, the arrangement of the Israelite camp.  God issues very specific instructions concerning the formation of the camp both during travel and encampment. Particular attention is given to the procedure for travel, including the dismantling and transportation of the Mishkan.  Even a detailed “public announcement” system is arranged, in the form of the chatzotzerot (trumpets), which was blown in different sounds for different announcements.

 

            The atmosphere that emerges from these commands is one of strict organization and orderliness.  God saw to it that Benei Yisrael would not march haphazardly through the wilderness, and that they would encamp in a carefully assigned formation.  In Sefer Bamidbar, Benei Yisrael brought a sense of orderliness to the chaos of the wilderness.  In a place where there are no rules, no set routines, no boundaries, and no accepted protocols, God commanded Benei Yisrael to bring a sense of order and discipline.  The chaos of the desert was replaced by the strictly organized, dignified arrangement of the Israelite camp.

 

            This contrast between the wilderness and the Israelite camp is perhaps symbolic of one of the Torah’s primary functions: to bring a sense of order, discipline and dignity to what might otherwise be a chaotic, unrestrained existence.  On one level, Torah is a response to the human inclination toward lawlessness, the desire to free oneself of all constraints.  The Torah forces us to make an organized “camp” in the “wilderness,” to create and follow structured routines and strict guidelines rather than running wild through the barren chaos of the “desert.”

 

            Significantly, however, this is but one aspect of Torah.  When Benei Yisrael first began their trek through the wilderness, after crossing the Sea of Reeds, they encamped in Mara.  The Talmud (Sanhedrin 56b) tells that in this first encampment, God commanded Benei Yisrael with regard to the seven Noachide laws, civil laws (dinim), and honoring parents.  The Seder Olam Zuta (4) adds to this list the law of the para aduma.  As Benei Yisrael began their march toward Sinai, they were first taught the basic code of human morality, and then the law of the para aduma, the quintessential “chok,” or mitzva whose underlying rationale eludes human comprehension.  From this perspective, the Torah is given not in response to the “wilderness,” to the natural affinity for chaos and lawlessness, but rather as an addition to the basic code of ethics.  It is directed not toward people living in the “desert,” but to people living in civilized communities who already follow basic standards of moral conduct.  The Torah has what to say to these people, as well, and seeks to raise them to a higher, more meaningful existence.  It does not only provide an oasis of structure and discipline in the chaos of the desert; it also infuses an already structured life with spiritual meaning and substance.  It responds not only to those seeking to live a brutish, uncivilized existence, but also to those who have established civilized, cosmopolitan communities in pursuit of comfort and luxury.  The Torah requires us to not only resist the temptation to live in the chaos of the “desert,” but also to rise above the structure and orderliness of the “city,” and to live our lives in pursuit of higher and loftier goals.

 

(Based on a sicha of Rav Yehuda Amital shelit”a, available at http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot68/34-68bamidbar.htm)

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

Volver al capítulo

Looking Away from the Sacred Vessels

        Parashat Bamidbar ends with God’s command to the kohanim not to allow the Kehatites – the family of Leviyim charged with transporting the sacred articles of the Mishkan – to view the articles before they are placed in their coverings.  Before Benei Yisrael disembarked, the kohanim would cover the sacred articles in preparation for transport. God here warns that the Kehatites must not look “ke-vala et ha-kodesh” – when the articles are exposed, before they are placed inside their coverings (Rashbam, Chizkuni).

 

            The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (81b) adds another interpretation of this verse, reading it as an allusion to the special law of “ha-goneiv et ha-kisva” – one who steals one of the sacred articles of the Mishkan.  This violator is subject to the extraordinary provision of “kana’in pog’in bo,” which allows zealots overcome with sincere rage to defend the Almighty’s honor by executing the thief.  The Gemara writes that the verse here in Parashat Bamidbar – “ke-vala et ha-kodesh va-meitu” – alludes to this law, indicating that one who “devours” (“ke-vala”) – meaning, steals – a sacred article is liable to death.

 

            Might there be some connection between the plain meaning of this verse – as forbidding viewing the sacred articles while they are exposed – and the homiletic reading, as referring to theft of the sacred articles?

 

            The prohibition against viewing the keilim before they are packed relates to the sense of reverence with which they must be treated.  Looking on as the articles are packed into bags could easily diminish from the awe that they must evoke.  We are to treat the Mikdash and its articles as a separate, distinct realm, which requires feeling a degree of uneasiness and tension in their presence. Viewing them in their exposed state, and especially as they are packed, makes them appear too ordinary, too familiar, such that the lines between our realm and the realm of the Mikdash are obscured.  In this sense, perhaps, viewing the sacred articles is a kind of “theft,” the extreme expression of denying legal boundaries.  The thief looks upon all possessions as potentially his; he fails to recognize the boundary lines that separate one person’s domain from that of his fellow.  If we fail to treat matters of kedusha with the awe and reverence they deserve, then we are guilty of a kind of “theft,” blurring the lines between different domains, between the realm of sanctity and the realm of the mundane.  If we feel too comfortable and at ease in relating to kedusha, then we are not that different from the thief who feels “at home” around other people’s property, failing to recognize the boundaries separating between his property and that of others.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion

Volver al capítulo

Shir HaMaalot and Yom Yerushalayim

The familiar chapter of Tehillim (126), "Shir Ha-ma'alot," traditionally sung prior to birkat ha-mazon on Shabbat and festivals, describes the emotion felt "when God restores the fortunes of Zion," the return of the Jewish people to Jerusalem. David writes that at that moment "hayinu ke-cholmim" - we were like dreamers. So surreal an event this is, Benei Yisrael's long-awaited return to its sacred city, that it can be compared only to the products of one's imagination. The Aramaic Targum, however, translates this expression - "hayinu ke-cholmim" - differently, associating it with the Hebrew term for the recovery from illness: "hachlama." (In modern Hebrew, "get well soon" is often expressed as "hachlama mehira.") Meaning, at this momentous occasion in Jewish history, we feel like we have recovered from a long, painful, seemingly terminal illness, the illness of exile.

The "return to Zion" of the 28th of Iyar, Yom Yerushalayim, 5727, undoubtedly featured both these elements. Standing at the brink of the destruction, the Jewish people experienced a triumph deemed less than possible by virtually any reasonable estimation. We sighed a breath of relief as if having recovered from a prolonged illness, and celebrated a victory and the fulfillment of a two-millennia-old dream that seemed too miraculous to be anything but a dream.

In the second half of this chapter, however, the Psalm undergoes a puzzling shift: "Restore our fortunes, God, like watercourses in the Negev. They who sow in tears shall reap with songs of joy. Though he goes along weeping, carrying the seed-bag, he shall come back with songs of joy, carrying his sheaves.

What happened? Haven't "the fortunes" already been restored? Why do we once again pray for the return to Zion?

Radak explains that here we recount the feelings of longings we felt before the return. The "sowing" spoken of refers to the mitzvot observed throughout the exile under bitterly difficult conditions, which sowed the seeds of the long-awaited redemption.

Many years later, however, Amos Chakham, in his "Da'at Mikra" commentary on Tehillim, offered an interpretation possible only by someone living after the founding of the Jewish State. Even after our return to Eretz Yisrael and Yerushalayim, there remains much for which to pray. Equipped with a knowledge of the 20th century, we can understand the final verses of this Psalm as referring not to the tearful seeds sown in exile, but to the blood and tears shed over the course of the process of "shivat Tzion." We turn to the Almighty and ask that we will soon reap the benefits of our labor and toil, that the process of redemption will soon reach completion.

Thirty-four years after the reunification of Jerusalem and restoration of Jewish sovereignty over our Biblical territories of Judea and Samaria, we still "go along weeping, carrying the seed-bag." Like the Psalmist centuries ago, we have woken from our dream to the grim reality of the seeds yet to be sowed and the tears waiting to be shed. The two sections of the Psalm combine into a single chapter in Sefer Tehillim; we celebrate and yearn, we offer thanks as well as prayer. May we soon "carry the sheaves" and realize the ultimate fulfillment of our dream, the return of the Shekhina to a safe, secure, and undisputed Yerushalayim.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

Volver al capítulo

Behar: Idolatry, Shabbat, and the Mikdash

Parashat Behar deals almost exclusively with the laws of shemitta and yovel, addressing first the agricultural aspects of these mitzvot and then proceeding to the effects of these institutions on business and employment. The final two verses of the parasha, however, appear to have nothing to do with this discussion (and indeed, the Christian editors who divided the Chumash into chapters began a new chapter with these two verses):

"You shall not make idols for yourselves, or set up for yourselves carved images or pillars, or place figured stones in your land upon which to bow, for I the Lord am your God. You shall keep My Shabbatot and venerate My Mikdash; I am the Lord." (26:1-2)

How do these mitzvot fit into the context? What do these laws – idolatry, forbidden images, Shabbat and the Temple – have to do with the laws discussed throughout the parasha?

Ibn Ezra claims that these verses continue the theme introduced in the immediately preceding verse. Concluding the laws of servants, who must go free on the jubilee year, the Torah declares, "For it is to Me that the Israelites are servants; they are My servants whom I freed from the land of Egypt." The Torah attributes the mitzva of freeing servants to the fact that we may not subjugate ourselves to any master other than the Almighty Himself. Continuing with this theme, Ibn Ezra claims, the Torah repeats the prohibition against idolatrous practices, which involves the acceptance of an authority besides God. And once the Torah mentioned the prohibition against bowing on figured stones, it mentions as well Shabbat and the Mikdash, for the practice was to bow down in the Temple on Shabbat (as implied in Yeshayahu 66:23).

Most other early commentators, however, follow the explanation of the Torat Kohanim, that these verses refer to the situation described several verses earlier, of a Jew who was compelled by financial straits to sell himself into the service of a gentile. After calling for the redemption of the servant by his relatives (see 25:47-54), the Torah now turns its attention to period of servitude itself, and warns the servant not to forsake his tradition despite his current residence in a pagan home. He must not adopt the ritual practices of his master, neither the idolatrous beliefs nor the mode of worship, which involved all types of monuments, statutes, mosaics, and the like.

But why did the Torah add a specific reminder concerning Shabbat observance and reverence for the Temple? Why are these mitzvot singled out in the discussion of the Jewish servant in the non-Jewish home? Particularly difficult to understand is the mention of the Temple. Presumably, a Jew held by a gentile does not have the opportunity to frequent the Bet Ha-mikdash. Why, then, does the Torah remind him to "venerate the Sanctuary"?

The Seforno explains that a Jew in foreign servitude might have thought to no longer observe the Shabbat. After all, Shabbat is about freedom, our emancipation from the shackles of the workweek and the opportunity to rest and engage in loftier pursuits. The Jewish servant might have therefore concluded that this mitzva does not apply to him, who is currently denied his freedom. The Torah therefore reminds him that he, too, must continue observing the Shabbat, even when subjected to foreign rule.

As for the mitzva to "venerate My Sanctuary," the Seforno boldly suggests that "Mikdash" here refers not to the Temple, but rather to the sacred institutions built in exile – the synagogues and study halls. Despite the absence of the Bet Ha-mikdash and our subjugation to foreign rulers, we may not undermine the sanctity of our holy institutions. Chazal famously comment (Megilla 29a) that the Batei Kenesset and Batei Midrash built and sustained in exile constitute a "Mikdash me'at," a minor Temple, as it were, they are, to some extent, infused with the sanctity of the Bet Ha-mikdash.

We might add that in this approach to this verse, the Seforno addresses what we may consider the two primary spiritual challenges in exile. The first is our sense of dignity and existential independence. The observance of Shabbat in exile has helped remind us that come what may, we are, ultimately, never fully subjugated to any force other than God Himself. Every seventh day, we remove our chains and decour exclusive subservience to the Almighty. Secondly, the "hester panim" ("concealment" of God's "face") in exile threatens to call into question our continued relationship with Him. After the destruction of the First Temple, the people turned to the prophets and asked, "A servant sold by his master, and a wife driven away by her husband – do they have any responsibilities one to another?" The people here wrongly presumed that exile meant the end of our covenant with God. The establishment of houses of worship and religious study, and a commitment to make these institutions a national priority, help ensure our ongoing awareness of God's continued presence in our midst, that even in the darkest hours of exile, God has never left His people.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

Volver al capítulo

Behar-Bechukotai: God Will Not Be Repulsed

          Parashat Bechukotai begins by describing the blessings and rewards that God promises to bestow upon Benei Yisrael if they faithfully observe His commands.  Many commentators have noted a jarring sentence included among these magnificent promises: “ve-lo tig’al nafshi etkhem” – “I will not be repulsed by you” (26:11).  It seems peculiar, at first glance, that God would promise not to be “repulsed” by Benei Yisrael as He speaks of the great rewards they will receive for complying with His laws.  This promise becomes especially striking when we consider the immediately preceding phrase, in which God promises, “I will make My dwelling among you.”  If Benei Yisrael have reached the level at which God wishes to “reside” among them, do we need to be told that He will not be “repulsed”?

            Rav Shimon Schwab, in his Ma’ayan Beit Ha-sho’eiva, suggests that this promise reflects the challenge posed by the great blessing of closeness.  Sensing that we are in God’s presence can be an intimidating feeling, as we recognize our many faults and deficiencies, and realize that God is carefully observing and keenly aware of everything we do.  Indeed, one of the impediments to embracing Torah observance is the fear of the immense pressure and anxiety that comes with a close relationship with God.  Many people prefer simply distancing themselves from God, rather than live with this constant awareness of His presence and close involvement in their lives, which can result in a great deal of stress and anxiety.  God therefore assures us that even as He resides among us, “ve-lo tig’al nafshi etkhem” – He will not be “repulsed” by our mistakes and faults.  Aware of the human being’s innate state of imperfection, God promises to continue loving and cherishing us and our relationship with Him, as long as we are sincerely trying to serve Him properly.  When we work to be worthy of His presence, then He assures us that this close relationship will be one of joy, fulfillment and comfort, and not one characterized by tension and anxiety.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

Volver al capítulo

Shemitta, Shabbat, and the Land of Israel

The mitzva of Shemitta as it appears in the Torah seems to have various purposes. If we look at Shemot 23:10-11 the purpose seems to be a form of charity and a concern for public welfare. Later in Shemot 34:21 (as understood by Rabbi Akiva in the talmud) the purpose seems akin to our weekly Shabbat - a period of rest. In this week's parasha the mitzva takes on a new meaning.

In this week's parasha we find a description of Shemitta (Numbers 25:1-7. As in Shemot the Shemitta year is referred to as the Shabbat, yet the "Sabbath" appears in two forms. In verse four we read:

"And in the seventh year there shall be a Shabbat for all the land, a Shabbat for God..."

Most often it is explained that the purpose of Shemitta (apart from an agricultural need) is to allow the people to rest and invigorate themselves with Godliness and holiness. This is true. There seems to be, however, a further level. The land itself contains a holiness that must be guarded and sanctified. From chapter 18 of Vayikra essentially through the end of the book we are taught of the centrality and indeed holiness/purity of the land of Israel. We are enjoined to act according to particular standards so as not to defile the land. (Even the command of the holidays in Emor can be seen as a discussion regarding the land for it discusses the agricultural nature of the festivals).

We must be aware that the land is God's. God has chosen a special piece of His earth and has inherently and eternally bound the Jewish people to this land and the land of the people through the Torah. It is our responsibility, through our actions both with God and all the more so with our fellow man to further sanctify God's land. We can see that Shemitta is indeed for all the reasons we have mentioned above. It is our rest and spiritual recharging. It is our assistance to the needy. Finally, through both of these, it is our connection to the Land of Israel.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

Volver al capítulo

המלך האידיאלי

Volver al capítulo

Pages

x

Lee el Tanaj cómodamente. ¡Instala nuestra App en tu pantalla de inicio!

📲 Instala nuestra App

Toca el botón de Compartir (el icono de un cuadrado con una flecha hacia arriba) en la barra de Safari, desliza hacia abajo y selecciona 'Agregar a la pantalla de inicio'.